


After The Rain

by Icanseenow, Polly_Flint



Series: After The Rain... The Flood [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Attempted Abortion, Awkwardness, Betrayal, Castiel Does Not Understand Humans (Supernatural), Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel Loves Sam Winchester, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Drama, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Mpreg, Nephilim, POV Alternating, Parents Castiel and Sam Winchester, Pregnant Sam Winchester, Sad Sam Winchester, Secrets, Uncle Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icanseenow/pseuds/Icanseenow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Flint/pseuds/Polly_Flint
Summary: Sam is lonely. Dean and Castiel's love is destined to be. These are just the facts of life. A single, alcohol-drenched night changes everything.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: After The Rain... The Flood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725898
Comments: 88
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written by Polly_Flint, and translated into English and edited by Icanseenow.

"Cas, come on! Hurry up!"

The impatient voice echoed through the hallway and shook Castiel out of his thoughts. Pouring popcorn into a bowl wasn't a very difficult or time-consuming task. Not even for an angel. Overall, Castiel had become quite proficient at it.

"You can already start playing the DVD. I will be there in second."

He tore the bag open. Heat and the smell of butter brushed his cheek like a warm breeze. He grabbed the bowl with one hand, opened the door with the other, and hurried out of the kitchen.

How many other people were taking a popcorn bag from the microwave right in this second, he wondered. How many were spending a nice Saturday night with their family in front of the TV, just like them. There was just one tiny difference. They were not like other people at all. He was not like everyone else.

The light in Sam's room was already turned off. Only the standby image on the screen spread a diffuse light that made human skin glow blue. Why did they always meet in Sam's room to watch movies? Probably because he was the only one who owned a TV. But surely they could have bought another one. For their own bedroom or a more communal room maybe. But that was just how things were. They watched TV in Sam's room. It was not going to change.

He looked around. The whole room consisted only of the big flat screen, which occupied almost the entire length of the room, and the bed that Sam and Dean were lying on.

"Mhmm, salted caramel." Castiel was still standing in the doorway carrying the bowl when Dean reached into it. "Sweet and salty at the same time, combining the best of both worlds." Then he patted the space between him and his brother. Sam's body was turned away. The sparse light made the shadows on his face look even darker.

"You got the bowl," Dean said. "So you need to sit in the middle."

That was not a sound argument. Castiel could have passed the popcorn on to Dean. Nevertheless, he followed Dean's invitation without resistance. He climbed over Dean's legs and tried to lie down in a position that was both comfortable and would not disturbing the others.

"I barely managed to stop Dean from starting the movie early." Sam leaned in conspiratorially. His breath smelled of caramel. Castiel liked the scent. He hadn't noticed that Sam had already reached into the bowl. "But I don't need to tell you that. You know how he is. He's just so impatient."

"You know I can hear you, right?"

A handful of popcorn flew from the other side of the bed and hit Sam's head. The popcorn bounced off and disappeared somewhere in the dark.

"Dean, are you out of your mind?" His voice had taken on a sharper tone. "I’m gonna have to sleep in here!"

Sam's behavior was so much easier to interpret than Dean's. He was a good listener. Most of the time his voice was as gentle as the sound of a river. But when he was angry, as he was now, he did not hide it. Castiel could not say why or when it had started, but he felt very connected to Sam.

"You could have thought of that before." Dean reached into the bowl again.

"No, Dean! Don't you dare! This isn't funny anymore."

Sam knew about so many things that would overwhelm most people. Computers and other technical equipment, or historical events that Castiel liked to share with him because Sam's thoughts were always logical and well thought out. Sam also got on well with people, even with Dean, who was now pouting and nestling against Castiel's side. Even when they had tried to stop the apocalypse, it had been Sam who had mediated between all of them, finding the right starting points when they had been about to lose all their threads and the chances of success had seemed particularly slim. Sam, whose behavior and addiction to demon blood had broken the last seal and freed Lucifer. Castiel averted his eyes.

Sam's mood was easier to interpret than Dean's, but that did not mean that he as a whole was easier to understand. He reminded Castiel of an iceberg of which you could only see the tip, its mass hidden beneath the surface of the water. Maybe it was better not to know what was hidden underneath. Dean and him, that was something that had been predestined long before Dean had even been born. Their meeting had been inevitable. Castiel had had to touch his soul and save him from hell. But Sam? Sam's destiny was carried only within himself. A destiny that had nothing to do with Castiel.

"You could have started the movie while I was in the kitchen," Castiel said.

"You’ve already seen Mission Impossible?" Dean leaned up and gave him an almost horrified look.

"I've read the blurb on the back of the DVD case."

Dean laughed. The bed frame creaked under his movements.

"That's not the same." His head was so close to Castiel's shoulder that he could feel the vibration of Dean's larynx as he spoke. The bed was so narrow, it was almost impossible not to touch. It was more likely however, that Dean had planned to be so close to him. Castiel felt the warm breath against his neck. "That's like looking at Google Street View pictures and saying you took a vacation somewhere."

"What is a Google Street View?"

Now it was Sam's turn to laugh. Castiel liked that sound. It reminded him of something he was not sure whether he had long forgotten or never known before.

When the movie started, the room turned even darker. Sam looked at the screen. Castiel looked at the image reflected in Sam's eyes. It was so difficult to describe their color. Now they seemed to shine almost black. Dean inched even closer. Castiel felt the weight of his head against his upper body.

"Are you guys really making out right now?" Sam turned his head towards them.

Castiel had payed little attention to the warm lips on his skin. They had become like second nature to him over time.

"No throwing popcorn, no making out... You're a real buzzkill, Sam. I'm not sure if I wanna do another movie night with you."

Dean reached into the popcorn bowl again. Castiel wasn't sure if he meant it as a provocation or not.

"Yeah, well," Sam said. "Good thing that this is my bed and my TV."

Sometimes it was hard to tell if the brothers were really arguing or just teasing each other. Even for him. Especially for him. Even after all the time he'd known them.

"Cas, you've been awfully quiet on this. You like making out with me, right?"

Up on the screen some men were trying to open a safe with some welding equipment.

Castiel hated to stand between them. That was not supposed to be his role.

"I like kissing you, Dean, but I also understand that it distracts Sam from enjoying the movie."

"Thank you, Castiel. At least there’s one person here who's capable of some empathy. Thanks for understanding how annoying it is when two people maul each other's faces off right next to you."

His smile should not have felt so rewarding.

"We weren't mauling off anything. And you could have just focused on the screen instead of watching us." Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Just wait until you meet someone you like. Then I'll be the killjoy, always on the lookout to ruin all your fun.“

"Dean, you can do whatever you want. Just don't do it in my bed." With a resigned sigh, Sam sank back onto the pillow and reached into the popcorn bowl. "And as long as this is my reality…" He motioned around the room. "Good luck waiting for your chance to ruin my non-existent love life. "

Sam pressed the play button and the movie resumed playing. Something exploded again. Castiel felt Dean's breath getting calmer and more even at his side. A warm feeling ran through him. He stroked over Dean's short hair.

Sam was not asleep. His pupils twitched back and forth as more things exploded on the screen. He seemed so lonely, as if he needed someone to hold him. His outstretched hand beside his body felt like an open invitation. Castiel had to grab it. He was surprised by how different it felt to Dean's, maybe just because it was larger. Within micro-moments different emotions flashed over Sam's face. Relaxation. Confusion. Finally a quizzical expression took hold. He gently withdrew his hand and laid it on his stomach where Castiel could no longer reach it. On the screen in front of them the world continued to explode.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything about this concert was mediocre. Sam put the beer bottle to his lips, only to find that it was empty. They were in a medium sized hall, the band was average, neither good nor bad, and the same was true for the mood of the audience. The reaction the band got was lukewarm. Even the beer sold at the counter, which was set up in one of the corners of the hall, was neither cheap nor particularly expensive.

He looked over at Castiel sitting next to him on one of the folding chairs spread all over the hall. In his white shirt and with his slightly disheveled dark hair, he stood out of the crowd. They were plenty black T-shirts of bands Sam had never heard of before. At least Sam had managed to convince Castiel to hand in his trench coat at the cloakroom.

Sam pushed the empty bottle under his seat. This evening was neither very bad nor very good. It would pass without leaving an imprint on their lives.

"Can we go now?"

Sam laughed. "That's just the break, Cas. They're gonna do a second set."

"Why are they doing this?“ Castiel's blue eyes looked seriously puzzled.

"Well, people can only sing a certain number of songs before their voices suffer, I guess." Sam pulled the empty bottle from under his seat and passed it from one hand to the other. "It's also how they boost the sale of drinks."

"No, my question was not why they take a break but rather why they feel the need to perform again."

Sam laughed again. Castiel looked very unhappy as he sat there, his gaze sweeping over the empty stage where a sound engineer was about to set up a drum kit.

"You think it's terrible, right?"

"Dean said that 'The Golden Apple' were an up and coming band and that you'd have to see them live now before they got too famous."

Castiel had thought about his answer too long for it to sound convincing.

"Yeah, that's what Dean said, but you still think they're terrible, right?"

"Terrible is such a strong word." Sam noticed that Castiel had hardly touched his beer, even though he'd been carrying it around for two hours now. "Wars are terrible. As are natural disasters. But in this case I’d merely say that this kind of music does not suit my taste. "

"What do you say, we get another drink?" Without waiting for an answer he pulled Castiel into an upright position. "That's how the music becomes more bearable."

The floor under his feet was sticky and the chairs stood so close to each other that they had to ask an old man in a motorcycle jacket to get up to let them pass.

"What music _do_ you like?" The buzz of voices in the hall was so loud that Sam had to shout. "Harps and angel choirs?"

Castiel did not reply. Maybe he had not heard him over the noise. Maybe he didn't want to dignify Sam's words with an answer. Maybe angels didn’t care when you made fun of their taste in music.

"Sorry," Sam said.

"What exactly are you sorry for?"

They had reached the end of the queue which meandered halfway across the side of the hall.

"For a lot of things… For most of my life, I guess." Castiel stood much too close. He looked at Sam out of deep, unfathomable eyes. "Doesn't matter. Just forget it."

They were silent for a while. A woman in a black leather miniskirt and with toupéd hair pushed past them. "Sorry," she said, maneuvering two beer glasses past them. A hint of sweat and peach deodorant followed her.

"Getting back to the initial question: you hate being here, don't you?" Castiel finally asked.

Sam laughed. "Hatred is such a big word. Let's just say, this band does not quite suit my taste in music. "

Either Castiel did not understand the reference or he did not show it. His face remained blank.

"But you usually like the music Dean plays in the car."

Slowly the queue got shorter. There were only five people left in front of them. He could already see the counter.

Sam shrugged. "Sometimes we both do things that we don’t feel like doing. We do them anyway, because we know it’s important to Dean and he's important to us."

"Things like going to a concert together because Dean got the tickets and could not come along because of his gastroenteritis?“ Castiel's eyes still showed no emotion.

"Yeah, exactly. You’re quick on the uptake, Cas."

Did the people around them think they were a couple? Were they curious what could connect two people so different from another?

"Dean is a good person."

"I know."

"I touched his soul."

"Hey, you can go ahead." The woman standing in front of them tapped Sam's shoulder. "My boyfriend is just getting his wallet."

Sam was more than thankful for the distraction even though he still did not know what he wanted to order.

"Alright." Sam let his gaze wander over the bar. "Oh, fuck it. We'll get a bottle of tequila."

-

"We should have asked for lemons."

The soft hum of the bass had followed them outside. Sam stood at the balustrade of the roof terrace like at the railing of a ship. The bottle in his hand like a telescope. "And salt. Have you heard of that before, Castiel? You sprinkle a little salt on your hand, lick it up, bite into the lemon and then you take a drink?" He thought about it. "Or do you drink first and then bite into the lemon?"

Night wind stroked through his hair, lifted it up and let it sink down again.

"Are you really feeling okay, Sam?"

He shrugged, his eyes focused on the city lights. "We can’t ever tell Dean that we skipped the concert. You hear?"

"What do we tell him instead?"

Sam put the bottle to his mouth again. "That the gig was okay."

Castiel pulled his lips into a smile. "It was okay? That's what we tell him? And you think he'll be satisfied with this answer?"

"Of course not." Sam nudged him in the side. A torrent of liquid spilled out of the bottle, leaving a dark stain on Castiel's coat. "You have to say a few more sentences. Just improvise. 'It was okay. The songs had a good groove 'or 'I liked the lyrics'."

Down in the street, two women walked arm in arm. Their steps were uncertain, their laughter too loud.

"If you tell him that it was shit, he'll try even harder to convert you and immediately drag you to the next concert. If you pretend you loved it, then he'll eventually notice you're lying. So you say you liked it 'okay'. That's the Winchester answer to everything." He laughed again. "How did the hunt go? Okay. How are you feeling? I'm okay. How is your life going? It’s going okay."

"But what do you say when you’re unwell?"

"That's just it. You still say you're 'okay'."

"And if you're actually happy?"

Castiel cocked his head.

"That never happens. But you'd still say you're okay."

"If the answer is always the same, what use is it?"

Sam shrugged, tilted his head back and began to spin around.

"Man, look at all these stars."

"If 'okay' can mean anything, how are you really doing, Sam?"

With both hands, Castiel grabbed Sam's shoulders and brought him to a halt.

"I'm okay." For a moment he managed to hold Castiel's gaze, then tears started welling up in the corners of his eyes. "How do you think I'm doing? I'm 30, I'm alone, I started the apocalypse, I was possessed by the devil, and my soul was in hell for several hundred years." He wiped over his eyes. "Eighteen-year-old self me running off to Stanford would have a seizure if he could see me now." He laughed and wiped over his eyes again. "That's not really the life I had envisioned for me, you know."

"You also saved the world, don’t forget that." Castiel's hands were still on Sam's shoulders. His face was still close. "Think of all the good you have done. All the people you and Dean have helped."

Sam's laugh sounded like a cry or a hiss.

"I always thought that I'd be married. By 30 I'd have a family of my own and a really fulfilling job." He raised his arms. Again, liquid spilled out of the bottle. "Well, that obviously didn't happen."

He shook his head and then put a hand over his eyes. His voice became quieter. "I always thought that my childhood was something terrible and dark that I just had to put behind me and now..." He took another sip. "Now my life is so shitty that it seems like a lost paradise in comparison."

"I think that excessive consumption of alcohol affects your perception."

"No... I mean, yeah, maybe I'm a little buzzed, but that doesn’t change the facts about my life."

"You're not alone, Sam."

He had not expected Castiel to pull him into something akin to a hug. Their friendship had never been very physical. Now, Castiel's hands were so warm on Sam's shoulders that he had to swallow.

"I know that Dean worries about me." It was barely more than a whisper that left his mouth. Once again he took a sip and then put the bottle down onto the wall. "But that's the problem. He was always allowed to say how shitty everything was and that he saw no light at the end of the tunnel. That was ok, but if I say something like that, if I admit how bad I am doing, then he goes crazy from self doubt. As if he was the sole reason my life is botched, as if he had failed me somehow." Sam laughed again while new tears came. "He is happy now, Cas. He's really happy for the first time in his life. I'm not allowed to destroy that by being unwell." He swallowed. "Fuck, I am drunk."

"I wasn't talking about Dean."

Castiel's hands moved from his shoulders over to his face, tracing the contours of Sam's cheekbones. Sam raised his eyes. The music from the hall was nothing more but a hinted idea now. He knew he should have said something or just turned around. Then they would have gone back into the hall together and everything would have been fine. But desperation sometimes found strange ways, just like Castiel's lips found his. He kissed away the salt of Sam's tears.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel was sad when the phone rang. It meant the day had started. He knew that it was inevitable, but he still regretted that it had come so early. With a sigh, he turned his eyes away from Sam's bare shoulders peeking out from under the covers, and turned to the bedside table. He picked up the small device and took the few steps to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, before pressing the green handset.

"Hello, Dean." His own voice was uncomfortably thrown back by the tiled walls. "How are you? Has your physical condition improved?"

"Well, I'm not dead yet." His laugh sounded fake. "I guess now that I've pretty much completely emptied myself out, it can only get better."

"I could have taken care of you."

"You would have just gotten sick yourself."

"I'm an angel. I can't get infected by human pathogens."

He sat down on the edge of the bathtub. It was strange to look at the bathroom from this perspective. It was generally strange for him to be in a bathroom.

"A stomach flu is the least sexy thing ever." Dean laughed into the phone again. "I don’t want anybody to see me like this. Especially not you." He paused. "No, it was good that you went to the concert. It's good to get out sometimes. To experience something new. Did you like it?"

Castiel considered the question for a moment.

"It was okay. I liked the groove and the lyrics were not bad."

"I knew you would like it." The tiles on the wall were white with gray swirls like whitecaps. Castiel stepped closer and tried to recognize a pattern. "Listen, what's up with Sam? I saw your text yesterday when I was half-hallucinating. I didn't really get what was going on."

"He drank a bottle of tequila."

"A whole bottle?"

Castiel thought about it. "No, some of the drink spilled onto the floor and in the end, about a third remained as a sediment in the bottle."

"Why did he do it?“

Castiel shrugged.

"I think it has something to do with the state of intoxication caused by alcohol."

"Believe me, I know how alcohol works." Dean sounded much more like himself than he did at the beginning of the conversation. Castiel could even picture him rolling his eyes. "I just meant it's not like Sam to get completely wasted. How is he now? And where are you?"

Castiel looked around.

"I'm in a bathroom in a hotel in Wichita, talking to you on the phone. Sam is in the bed that belongs to the hotel room. He is asleep."

Dean laughed again.

"Sounds like he'll need some painkillers for breakfast. A whole bottle of tequila. Jesus. I can't believe it." Then there was silence in the line. "Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you." He could hear Dean breathing into the phone.

"For what?"

"Well, for taking care of Sam and making him get a hotel room. Letting him drive this drunk would have been a terrible idea."

"I enjoy taking care of him." He noted how soft his voice sounded. "He just wouldn’t allow me to under normal circumstances."

Again there was a pause.

"Me too. And believe me, I know the problem."

Then another.

"So we'll see each other this afternoon?"

"Depending on the traffic. Otherwise it might be early evening."

Dean laughed again.

"Say hi to Sam from me."

"I will do that, Dean. See you later."

He sensed that Dean wanted to say something else but then the connection was capped and he just listened to silence.

-

When he opened the door to the room two things struck him. Sam was dressed. More or less anyway. He wore his T-shirt inside out with the imprint on his back and he was missing one sock. He reminded Castiel of a child that had tried to dress itself and failed. The second thing he noticed was that Sam sat curled up on the bed, crying.

He was with him in a few steps.

"Are the after-effects of the alcohol so painful?" He wanted to touch Sam's forehead, but then he remembered their conversation. "I'm supposed to give you painkillers for breakfast."

"That was Dean on the phone, right?"

Instead of calming Sam this information only seemed to cause him more pain. He clapped his hands over his face and his breathing sped up.

"I can also take the pain from you."

"No! Keep your hands off me."

Before Castiel's fingers could touch Sam's forehead, Sam had knocked his arm away.

"But..."

"Oh God, what have we done?"

It looked like he was scratching himself. Castiel wanted to take his fists away. To hold and caress them until they uncurled. But Sam had said that he did not want to be touched again. He had to respect that wish. He stood in front of the bed, uncertain.

"I do not understand what it is that bothers you, but I'm sorry if I caused you discomfort in any way. That was never my intention." He swallowed. "Quite the contrary. Your well-being is very important to me. "

"My well-being? Shit, Castiel! I was drunk, lonely and having a nervous breakdown and you slept with me!"

His expression was tormented, as if in great pain.

"I interpreted your kiss and the opening of my shirt buttons as consent. I'm sorry if I - " He stopped. "When we were connected, I felt your soul, your turmoil and your pain." He cleared his throat. "And I could feel that our connection was good for you, too. And that the bodily act gave you pleasure."

Images from last night flooded Castiel's mind. The way Sam had lain under him, his eyes so far gone in ecstasy as if he were seeing through Castiel. In that moment, Castiel had wished that it would never end. That there would always be something to connect the both of them.

"How can you not get it? What's wrong with you?" Sam's grip on his shoulders was firm. His vessel felt the pain of the bruises that were still to come. "It's not about the sex and whether it was good or not. It's about doing something that's so bad we can never fix it." Sam took a deep breath. "We betrayed Dean. We betrayed him. We stabbed him in the back."

Sam shook his head, let go and left without another word, making his way to the parking lot.

-

Once they had reached the Impala, Sam's determined expression changed back into a mask of grief and despair. He started heaving again, and a couple on the way to their own car threw curious glances their way.

"Maybe it would be better if I drove?"

Castiel was surprised that Sam switched to the passenger side without a word. He had expected that he'd at least need to mention the effects of residual alcohol to convince him. Sam turned silently to the window and looked outside.

The journey was silent. The lush agricultural landscape of Kansas, as well as some smaller towns, moved past their car. Sam was curled up into a ball and stared into nothingness.

Castiel wondered how he had managed to get his long legs into the passenger seat. He looked sad. So devastatingly sad that Castiel refrained from explaining that in his current sitting position he would not be well protected in the event of an accident.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier." Sam's voice was very quiet, his face turned away from him. At first Castiel wasn't even sure if Sam really had spoken at all, or if he had just imagined his voice. "I was drunk and lonely... That makes it sound like I'm some woman in a stupid fifties movie, helpless and unable to protect herself from some guy’s pushy advances." He laughed. His laugh sounded sad, too. "You're right. It was my decision and that's why it's my fault."

As he turned his face, Castiel could see that it was tear-stained.

"Sam, Dean is fine. We did not stab him in the back with a knife. How could that have happened? You were with me all night." He gave Sam a soft smile. "Whatever you think you see. It's not real."

"Oh, God." Sam shook his head. "I should never have gotten you into this situation."

"Why are you apologizing to me? I enjoy physical contact with a person whose soul I find beautiful and who means something to me. I am very happy that we have grown closer."

"What about Dean?"

"His soul is beautiful, too. We share a very special band, but you know that." Castiel managed to place his hand on Sam's shoulders without him pushing it off. He considered this a success. "Dean wants you to be well. Why do you think you're betraying him if you allow yourself to be happy?"

"But not like that. That's definitely not what Dean had in mind."

He would have liked to look at Sam for longer, but he had to concentrate on the traffic.

"I think you just don't understand humanity well enough to get it." He was surprised by how firm Sam's voice suddenly sounded. "If Dean ever finds out about what happened between us last night, it will destroy him. Do you understand that?"

He did not understand it, so he shrugged. Cattle grazed at sight of the road. The animals looked up, chewing, and then lowered their heads again.

"Okay, so then you don't get it. It doesn't really make a difference. All that matters is that you promise me that you'll never tell him." Sam's hand felt feverishly hot and urgent as it squeezed his own, so he nodded.

"Promise."

"If it means so much to you, then yes, I promise I will not tell him about our night together."

They had just passed the town sign of Lebanon, Kansas. Sam had fallen silent again.

"Do you want me to erase your memories of the night?"

"No." Sam shook his head, his hair falling over his eyes so that Castiel could no longer read his expression. He felt a brief flicker of hope that Sam's memories of last night weren't all bad. "It's just another mistake on an endless list of things I've done to my brother. I'll just have to learn to deal with it like I do with all the others."


	4. Chapter 4

"Couldn't you maybe try to talk to Sam?"

Dean's hair was ruffled and his face flushed. Castiel did not know much about humans, but he knew enough to understand that Dean's behavior deviated from the norm. In all the movies Castiel had watched, people never talked about their brothers after sex. Dean himself was apparently aware of the absurdity of the situation. He shook his head before he lay down so close to Castiel that they were sharing air. Castiel could only make out certain details of Dean's face from this perspective.

"I mean, I just know something's up with him. He's not himself. This isn't normal."

"In statistics normality describes a point within a certain range." Castiel considered putting his arm around Dean, but decided against it. "If you were to compare Sam's life with that of all Americans, then he would indeed fall outside the normal distribution curve and would thus, by definition, be considered 'not normal'."

"Ha ha, funny. I meant 'not normal' in the sense of more strange than the already high bar of Winchester 'normal not normal'."

Dean's eyes were not uniformly green. It was an optical illusion that came from looking at him from a distance, much like an Impressionist painting. From Castiel's point of view, he could see the individual brown dots in the much lighter base color.

"Where do you see deviant behavior compared to before?"

Dean thought about it for a while.

"He won't talk to me anymore." Castiel was about to open his mouth when Dean stopped him. "Don't say something like 'But he asked you to pass the butter at breakfast.' I know he still talks, but... " Dean paused. "He doesn't tell me anything anymore, at least nothing important. He treats me like we're strangers." He sighed. "When we're in the same room, I can tell that my presence makes him uncomfortable and he just wants to leave. He can't even look me in the eye anymore."

Now that Dean had started talking, it didn't seem like he was going to stop any time soon. "I know he doesn't really sleep. I can hear him at night, running to the bathroom all the time. And these deep shadows under his eyes." Dean pointed to his own eyes. Castiel registered the small wrinkles that had not been there when he had first met Dean. "I can just tell he's not well."

"And what is your working hypothesis?"

Castiel could not tell if his own voice sounded different now, perhaps strained, or if he imagined it.

"Working hypothesis?" Dean laughed and carded his hand through Castiel's hair. Castiel closed his eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that you're really weird?"

His hand travelled lower, stroked over the bare skin at his side.

"Don’t worry. I like you anyway. You're a keeper." Suddenly, Dean's face became serious again. "I don't know what's wrong with him, but when he's like this..." He sighed. "I think Sam is hiding something from me, and Sam being Sam, it can't be anything good." He laughed a brief and forced laugh. The bed creaked under his movements. "He's either got late stage cancer and he's only got a few days to live, or he's started the next apocalypse and let the devil out of his cage again." Dean's fingertips felt softer than feathers on Castiel's skin. "And I really don't know which one I'd prefer."

"If it calms you down, and you think he's going to tell me something he won't tell you, I could try to talk to him."

Castiel turned his head to one side.

"Thank you, Cas. I knew I could count on you."

Behind Dean, the concrete crumbled off the wall.

-

"How are you, Sam?"

He knew that his interpersonal communication skills still left something to be desired. Dean kept telling him so. Now in the bunker's library, Sam's confused look made him realize that he had chosen the wrong way to approach him. When Dean had left the room, Castiel had tried striking up a conversation with Sam about ancient civilizations, to which Sam had answered only monosyllabically.

"I'm okay."

Sam reached out to push a book back onto the shelf. Someone else would have needed a ladder. Castiel liked to look up at Sam. All he saw was his profile, the mole next to his nose, the hair falling in his face. Sam's eyes were turned away.

"I don't think you're really feeling okay." The air smelled of yellowed parchments and centuries-old dust. "Especially since you told me how to decipher the code of this phrase at the concert. Do you recall?"

Sam was silent. He glanced over the spines as if searching for something. He finally pulled out another book.

"Please Sam... Talk to me." He paused. "We were already much closer once."

Castiel wanted to reach for Sam's shoulder, but before he could touch him, Sam whirled around. His face was pure rage and did not match the laugh that escaped his mouth.

"Are you serious? This would almost be funny, if it wasn't so sad."

"I don’t understand-"

"Of course you don't. You never understand, that's the problem."

Sam took a step towards Castiel and was so close to him now that it made Castiel want to either take a step back or lunge forward.

"Dean told you to talk to me, right?" Sam looked around in panic for his brother.

"Yes, but-"

"If you tell him anything about that night, you're dead, I swear."

Sam's fists trembled, then everything about him softened, even his voice.

"Please Castiel... I'm begging you. Don't tell him anything. You promised."

Humans had been begging angels for eternity. They begged them to undo disasters, famines, droughts. Things angels were neither the cause to nor able to influence in any way. And yet, people did not stop praying.

Sam's plea was different. It touched Castiel. Maybe because this time he was both cause and solution. Or maybe simply because Sam was Sam.

"It's not just your brother who worries about you." He swallowed. "I do, too."

Sam shook his head in resignation. Then he ran. Castiel heard how the door of the library and then the door to the bathroom door were pushed open. For a moment he stood indecisively, then he followed.

"Sam?"

When Castiel knocked on the wooden door, he heard retching. Even through the door he could smell the sour smell of vomit. Carefully, he pushed door open.

"Are you okay?"

"You really want to hear the truth?" Sam was sitting on the floor in front of the toilet bowl. Tears and vomit mixed on his face. "I feel like shit!" He took a hissing breath. "I'm not really eating and the little that I do manage to eat, I can't keep down." He shrugged. "It's like I'm a vampire or something. As if my body is suddenly repelling food." He wiped his mouth with the backs of his hands. "Every night I lay awake and the same thoughts keep coming again and again. 'Why the hell did you do that? What kind of horrible person are you?' During the day I can hardly keep my eyes open and you know what?" He turned his face toward Castiel. "Part of me is glad I'm feeling so bad. Because I deserve it and because it is the just punishment for betraying Dean." He shook his head again. "Sometimes I wish I would die, even if the whole thing is probably just psychosomatic and an expression of my guilty conscience."

"Whatever it is. Nobody deserves to suffer and least of all you." Castiel sank to his knees, so that they were both on the same level. "Please let me help you."

He did not believe that his words had changed Sam's mind. It was more likely that Sam was just so physically exhausted that he permitted the physical proximity. Sam closed his eyes as two fingers touched his forehead. For a moment there was only peace and light, then Castiel's eyes opened and their connection broke.

"You couldn't heal me?"

It was both a question and an assertion. Castiel shook his head. He was confused. Normally only human interactions managed to confuse him this much. But what he had felt seemed impossible.

"I felt a second soul inside you."

"I'm possessed?" Sam flinched. "But it doesn't feel like I'm-"

"No, the soul is growing within you."

Sam looked at him, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure, but I think it's a nephilim. A human soul bound to the grace of an angel."

"And how is that supposed to-" Sam's face became a motionless mask and he fell silent again. Then life returned to his voice. "No! That can't be right." He laughed and shook his head at the same time. "You have to laugh after you make a joke. That's the point of a punch line."

"Sam, I would never joke about such things."

Sam did not laugh anymore. His lips were pressed tightly together. His mouth just a thin line.

"No!" Sam jumped up so suddenly that Castiel winced. "Goddamn! Tell me it's not true!"

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders as if all his problems would vanish if Castiel would only agree with him. He did not know how to react so he did not respond and just looked into Sam's face, into those indefinable eyes.

"Fuck."

Sam let go of him.

"Sam!"

He was too late. The door was slammed shut loudly. He was alone on the floor of an old-fashioned bathroom. Sam was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

At first nothing happened. Sam switched on the TV. He tried in vain to concentrate on some sitcom, then he stood up, leaned over the bedside table and took another grain from the envelope and put it in his mouth. He washed it down with water. It tasted like nothing. Absolutely nothing.

For a moment he thought about taking another grain, just to be sure, but that would be reckless. He had no idea of the correct dosage and did not want to kill himself. Not if it could be avoided anyway.

He lay down on the bed again, pulled the blanket over himself and zapped through the programs until he found a documentary about the Great Train Robbery. Black and white pictures of policemen wearing typically old-fashioned English helmets flickered across the screen. Sam closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

He must have fallen asleep. When he opened his eyes again, there was a car race showing on the screen. The monotone drone thundered in his skull. He looked for the alarm clock on the nightstand, but mist filled the room and his thoughts. He had heard of these side effects, so he tried to stay calm and concentrate on his breathing. But his heart did not stop racing in his chest. He wiped his sweaty fingers over the sheet. Lianas grew out of the walls of the room and framed his bed. He tried to push them away, but more and more appeared. They covered everything, took his breath and slowly crushed him.

After the hallucinations, the fever came. It burned and raged inside him. He could no longer feel his finger tips, but he did not care. Everything faded in comparison to the pain that glowed within him like a poker taken straight from the fire. He whimpered.

_"Please make it stop."_

He pleaded with each new wave of pain that rolled over him and buried him. Dying. Everything in him just wanted to die and stop existing. These were his last thoughts before he fell into darkness.

"Sam!"

When he woke up, the fog was gone, only his tongue was still thick and heavy against the roof of his mouth. Had it all been a dream? He sat up in bed and looked around. His room looked exactly as it always did. But how could he know what had truly happened and what had not. Castiel sitting on a chair beside his bed, his gaze as unreadable as ever. The dizziness that struck him.

"I am very relieved that you are conscious again." Castiel's fingers, touching his forehead, felt pleasantly cool. "What were you thinking? Don’t you know how dangerous an ergot poisoning is?" Now his hands moved to Sam's eyes, pulling back the skin under them to check the mucous membranes. "Even in ancient Rome, in the vast majority of cases it led to the woman's circulation failing instead of the desired abortion. That was your goal, was it not? To stop the pregnancy?"

Castiel's voice had become quieter. Again he thought he could hear a reproach in Castiel's words. How holier-than-thou he was, how merciless. It made Sam angry.

"Are you really mad that I tried to stop this insanity?"

Castiel shook his head.

"I don't fully understand your motives, that's true, but I'm not mad." He cocked his head as if he had to think about what it was that he felt instead. "I'm worried about you, Sam. You could have died. "

"I'm sorry, but I could hardly go to a gynecologist and say, 'Help, I'm in a real pickle here, an angel knocked me up. Can we arrange an abortion appointment, please?'" Sam straightened his upper body. "Besides, I wouldn't have died. I knew that you were in the bunker and would cure me, no matter how severe the poisoning would be."

"You voluntarily accepted the risk and already planned my role in this?"

Castiel looked disappointed.

"You got me pregnant without my say, and you expect me to just somehow be fine with it."

Castiel looked past him, into the direction of the wall.

"Why do not you wish to keep the child that grows inside you?"

"Let's start with the fact that it's not a child, it's a monster." Sam hit the pillow with his flat hand. Nothing happened except that the metallic springs creaked. "Don't you remember? Nephilims are abominations. Nephilims are the most dangerous beings in this universe. Nephilims have the power to destroy whole worlds and, oh yeah, angels are forbidden from creating them. Death penality and all."

"That is what they say, yes, but what if the teachings of Heaven are wrong?"

"Sure, if Lucifer's true vessel and the most sought-after Angel of Heaven come together to make a nephilim, it's bound to have good consequences. A minus and another minus make a plus." He shrugged. "Speaking of nephilims: is it gone?"

Castiel shook his head.

Sam felt the world coming apart at its seams.

"I did not heal you. Your child did."

"Oh, great. You do realize that it didn't heal me because it loves me so much, but only because it did not want to die itself." Sam felt like he had to fight back tears. "It’s like in the movie Alien. When the alien queen spares Ripley because she's pregnant."

"I am not very well-versed in the field of movie quotes but the nephilim inside you... Nobody knows how they will turn out. They have a human soul just like you."

Sam swung his legs out of bed. He no longer felt any physical weakness. It was as if he had only dreamed the convulsions and cramps.

"Can you make it go away?" He could not look into Castiel's eyes as he asked. "Normal methods don't work, I got that. But you're an angel."

"A nephilim is also an angel."

They still avoided each other's eyes.

"Exactly. And nothing's as good at killing angels like another angel."

"Sam, it won't work."

"Are you saying you can't help me or you don't want to?"

Sam blinked back tears again. He settled on anger instead. Anger made everything more bearable. It was much more productive than despair.

Castiel thought about his question for a while.

"I don't like the fact that you want me to kill my own child." His voice was surprisingly clear. "But I'm also not physically capable of killing it. A nephilim is always more powerful than the angel who fathered it." Castiel shrugged. "I'm too weak to kill them. The only way to undo it now would be to kill you. The nephilim would automatically die with you. But I could never do that." He took a deep breath. "Not even if you asked me to."

Sam put his hands over his face and breathed in and out, until the pain and despair eased a bit. Finally, he didn't feel like he was about to burst any second.

"Can I ask you something?"

Sam had started walking up and down the room again. It wasn't a big room, so he had to turn around after every three steps.

"Of course. You can ask me anything."

"How many times have you slept with my brother?"

"Sam, I don't understand why-"

"How many times?" he asked with more emphasis.

It took a moment until Castiel replied.

"It depends on the definition, but if you're strictly referring to anal penetration..." He paused and made an estimation. "I would say about 250 times. But why do you want to know?"

"Is Dean pregnant?"

Sam folded his hands in front of his body.

"That's a rhetorical question, correct? No, Dean is not pregnant."

"Then why am I?" Sam pressed his hands into his hip like a shield. "You know, Castiel, we got a great library here in the bunker. I've had some time to read up on nephilims over the last few days. I know for a fact that an angel has to make a conscious decision to produce a nephilim."

Castiel had turned pale.

"It was not a conscious decision. It was rather just a thought."

Sam stopped him by lifting his hand.

"How the hell could you do something so messed up?" Sam whirled around. "When you knew that angels get punished by death for less. When you knew that the power of a nephilim can't be controlled!" He paused. "When you're knew you're with Dean."

"I... I don't know..." Castiel looked genuinely remorseful. "I just wanted to stay connected to you."

"Great, that's just really great."

Sam resumed walking through the room.

"Angels are pretty much forbidden to do anything under the death penalty. We can't make our own decisions, we're not allowed to lie with humans, we must not question God." Castiel touched his shoulder. Sam shoved his hand off. "You have always questioned the decisions of heaven, Sam. Cupid matching your parents, with the sole purpose of creating you so that you can follow heaven's plan. The plan to purify the earth through an apocalypse." He looked at the floor. "You and Dean, you have always told me that free will exists. That everyone creates their own destiny." Now Sam's eyes found his. "How can you of all people agree with heaven's rules? A nephilim is not evil in itself. The only thing that makes them dangerous, makes them uncontrollable, is their human soul, which serves them as a moral compass."

Sam sank back onto the bed. Now that the fury that had pumped like fuel through his veins depleted, he simply felt exhausted.

"Oh, Cas... that's so typical of you. You always want to do the right thing, but every time you try you trigger a new catastrophe." Sam put a hand on his stomach. There was hardly anything to see yet, but that would change in the next few weeks. "You pretty much sentenced me to death without meaning to." He swallowed and was amazed that he managed to continue speaking in a normal voice. "According to the lore, no one has ever survived birthing a nephilim.“


	6. Chapter 6

Dean should have known better than to underestimate Sam. Even asleep, he still had the instincts of a hunter. Dean barely managed to block his brother's fist in time.

"Sam, calm down." Sam's eyes were dark and wild like storm clouds, until consciousness slowly flashed in them. "It's just me. You’re home. Everything's fine."

"Dean?"

Sam dropped his fist and looked around, confused. He probably recognized his room, his bed with its tousled sheets. He probably remembered falling asleep while watching TV. He wiped his eyes. His gaze sank lower, clinging to his now clearly visible belly. He probably remembered that, too. His face became suddenly hard and unyielding, like a marble statue of some warrior.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He sat up. "And did you seriously just try to touch my stomach?"

Dean shrugged. What could he say. If Sam was like this, trying to talk him out of it was pointless anyway.

"You shouldn't get so upset, the baby-"

"The so-called baby." Sam drew quotation marks into the air. "It would survive a nuclear war, so I'm sure it will survive a little bit of adrenaline." He shook his head. "Besides the obvious problem that you've apparently never heard the word privacy, you can't just touch a sleeping hunter. I could have killed you."

"No, you couldn't have. You're not that good." Dean crossed his arms. It did not look as convincing as he had hoped it would. It did not even look defiant. It just looked helpless. Just as helpless as anything he had tried in the last few months to overcome the deep rift that had opened between him and Sam. "Get some rest. I just wanted to check on you, see if you're alright. "

"And?"

"What do you mean, 'and'?"

"Am I alright?"

Dean would have liked to sit down on Sam's bed but he thought that would have made him even angrier. He stood in the middle of the room and took a deep breath.

"At least you're still well enough to attack me, so I'd consider that a success."

He had hoped that Sam would smile, but his lips were pressed together tightly.

"Did you at least get a chance to convince yourself that there's really a baby growing inside me?"

Dean shrugged. The floor in Sam's room was just like in his own room. It was made of dark green pressed felt panels. Everything was the same, except that there were hardly any personal items in Sam's room. It was much neater, too.

"You were asleep. I didn't mean to wake you, but when I saw you lying there I thought... " He stopped. "It just came over me. But you went straight to combat mode anyway. I didn't feel anything except for your fist."

"Great. Normally this thing," Sam pointed to his stomach, "has exactly one hobby and that's kicking. Kicking all day long. It's a pity you missed it."

"Like a real Winchester."

The words had slipped out of his mouth automatically. Maybe he should not have said that. Not to Sam, anyway. Not when he was like this. Sam's eyes narrowed. He put his hand on his stomach. The gesture had nothing protective, it looked defensive.

"Can I feel it now?"

Without waiting for an answer, Dean had put his hand next to Sam's on the bulky, black T-shirt. Sam froze.

"What does it feel like?" Dean asked. He was surprised at how tight the skin tissue felt. It was like touching a full water balloon. A memory from some cheap motel flashed inside his brain. Throwing water balloons out of the window. Seeing his father's face.

_"Do you want us to be thrown out here? Is that what you want?"_

What would Dad say if he knew what kind of shit they had brought themselves into this time?

There was a nephilim growing inside Sam. The whole situation was absolutely crazy.

"Like being kicked and punched from the inside?" Sam rolled his eyes and Dean pushed every thought of Dad into the back of his mind. "Like someone trying to box through a wall? Like having to go to the bathroom all the time?" Sam took a deep breath. "Just think of everything that's unpleasant and then pick whatever."

Dean moved his hand over the round stomach.

"I can't feel anything."

He did not mean to sound so disappointed. Sam did not respond, he just took Dean’s hand and put it a few inches further down.

"There, can you feel it now?"

Dean felt something moving under the hard surface. It felt like the child moved towards him. Dean smiled.

"Hey, you. This is your uncle Dean." He smiled and then looked at Sam. "Oh yeah, someone's definitely really active. You can practically see the feet." Dean shook his head in amazement. "Or is it hands?"

"It could be wings for all I know. I don't care."

"Do you already know if it's going to be a girl or a boy?"

"Which part of me not caring did not you understand?"

Something in how violently Sam grabbed his hand and pushed it away terrified Dean.

"That's it. The freak show is over." Had he accidentally hurt Sam? No, there was just anger in Sam's eyes. "I mean, why are you doing this? Why do you have to make it worse than it already is? "

Sam's voice skipped.

"What do you mean? What did I do wrong?"

Sam shook his head, then ran his fingers through his hair.

"You know that we aren't like one big happy family that can't wait to hold their beloved offspring in their arms, right? So why are you pulling the whole 'Is it a girl or a boy' shit?" He laughed bitterly. "What's wrong with you, Dean? What made you turn so soft?" He turned away. "Normally, you can't wait to slaughter anything that is supernatural in any way. Do you remember Amy? The kitsune? Or the werwolves?" His face was cold and dismissive. "How is the thing inside me any different?"

Now that Sam sat upright, his stomach seemed monstrously swollen. How many months had it been? Six? What was Sam going to look like three month from now. What was he going to wear, when oversized band t-shirts were all that he could fit in now. Had Dean not noticed the changes for so long, because it had been gradual? Or had there really been nothing to see.

Dean had been hoping for months that this was some kind of weird misunderstanding. Sure, Castiel was not exactly the type for pranks, but Sam had never mentioned the subject again and had just kept going on as usual. He had gone hunting, and jogging in the morning. They had spent the nights in bars or cemeteries. But then Sam had become rounder. One day Dean had surprised him, had found him crying in one of the armchairs in the library. The baby, the growing nephilim, whatever you wanted to call it, had begun to kick. The time of denial was over.

"Sam, calm down."

Dean took a step towards him.

"I don't want to calm down!" He balled his hands into fists. "Is it because this falls into the family category for you?" He snorted. "You've always been weird about stuff like that. You said that family doesn't end with blood, but when it comes down to it, you were always willing to sacrifice everything and everyone to save someone who happened to share a few DNA code sequences with you." Sam took a breath. "It didn't matter to you whether they deserved death or whether the world would be better off without them. It didn't even matter to you whether they wanted to survive. Is that what family is for you?"

"Stop generalizing. There was no family for a long time. There was always only you, so what?" Dean also clenched his fists. "You are my brother. Protecting you, whatever it may cost, is something I will never ever regret or apologize for. And you can't change that, whether you like it or not."

Sam shook his head. He put his hand onto his stomach. His voice sounded more resigned than angry now.

"And now there is this baby. In your world anyway." Sam sighed. "We both know that there are exactly two ways this will end. Either it'll kill me at birth, and then it's all on you to keep it from taking over the world. Or Castiel actually manages to use that spell he keeps talking about."

"There is no either or. Of course he'll manage to save you." Dean touched Sam's shoulder. This time, he let him. "You'll see. He'll seal off the nephilim's grace. You won't die." He smiled. "Then everything will be fine and you will have a normal child."

Lisa's sister had had an infant, Ted. When she had gone back to work, there had been a few times she had left the child with Lisa. Dean still remembered how small he had been, how soft. When you carried him in your arms, you could kiss his forehead and soak up the baby smell from its soft hair.

Sam looked down.

"Dean, we can't keep the child." It was the first time he had said it. It was also the first time that his hands lay tenderly on his stomach. The first time Dean saw him doing so, anyway. "If it's born and I'll survive, I'll give it away." He looked up slowly. "There's gotta be people out there who can take good care of it and who'll love it. You understand that, right? This child has to have the tiniest of chance to grow up normally."

"We can love the child, too."

Dean had become quieter.

"Have you looked at us lately?" Sam laughed. Again, it did not sound happy. "How are we supposed to do that? We are not even good people."

"We don't have to be good people. Many parents aren't." When Dean grabbed his brother's hand and pulled him into a hug, he was surprised that Sam did not resist. He even leaned his head against Dean. "I know you're angry and sad." He felt a tremble run through Sam's body, infecting his. "I don't know what happened to you. I don't know what that goddamn angel did to you. To you of all people, after everything Lucifer - " He paused. "You won't talk to me about it. I want to be there for you." He stroked over Sam's hair. "I swear, Sammy, I'll kill that bastard if I get my hands on him. "

"Dean, it wasn't like this." Sam had started crying silently. Dean felt his tears on his neck. "The angel... He didn't do anything to me. It was..."

"I know you, Sam. You always think everything's your fault." Dean snorted. "I know you're not the kind of guy who'd sleep with an angel for fun." He shook his head. "Besides, I know that the final decision to make a nephilim is a always the angel's conscious decision."

"I need to tell you something."

"Okay. Shoot."

It had become quiet. So quiet that you could hear the cracking of the old water pipes and the monotonous whir of the ventilation system.

"It's not that important." Sam swallowed. "Let's just forget about it. Let's not talk about it again."

"No." Dean pulled Sam into a hug as tightly as the bulging stomach would allow. It hung between them like an airbag. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. I should have protected you."

Sam's crying wasn't as quiet anymore. He tried to get out of the hug but Dean did not let go of him. "But I'm here for you now. Together we'll manage. It's not a new apocalypse or the end of the world, it's just a baby, and you always wanted to have your own family."

"You think I wanted this?" Now Sam had managed to break free. Tears ran down his face. "That what I wanted for my future was to serve as an angel's birth machine?" "

"No, of course not."

Again he tried to reach for Sam's arm, but now, despite his body size, he was more adept at warding it off.

"You don't know shit about me, Dean!"

"I just wanted to say that not everything has to end badly just because it started badly." He had given up trying to grab Sam's hands. "It's not the baby's fault that it's... uh... father is a dickbag? And it's yours, too." He paused. "Once you get used to it, then a child like this can be a -"

Dean stopped.

"A blessing?" Sam's tears were still running down his face. "Is that really what you wanted to say?"

Dean looked down. He did not know if he should interpret it as a good or a bad sign that they still knew what was going on in each other's heads, that they could still complete each other's sentences.

"I'm always there for you and, of course, for the kid too."

When he looked up, he saw Sam turn away. How he climbed back onto his bed and curled up into a ball. For a moment Dean paused. What could he do? He went towards the bed and looked at his crying brother. Sammy looked so young. If not for that huge belly.

"I miss you, Sam." Dean let his outstretched hand hover helplessly in the air over Sam's quivering body. "I want my little brother back. I wish you could trust me again, that we could... talk to each other again. Like we used to."

When Sam spoke it was so quiet that Dean was not sure if he understood him correctly.

"Please leave, Dean. I need to be on my own right now."


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel knocked on the door. When Sam did not answer, there was nothing but silence for a few helpless moments. Then Castiel decided to interpret the silence as approval and entered.

"Hello, Sam." Sam was lying on his bed. His eyes were open. "I just wanted to see how you were doing." Castiel gave him time to answer. When nothing come, he continued, "Dean worries about you because you did not show up for dinner and you've been in your room all day."

"We've already had this conversation a million times, with only slight variations." Sam took a long time to answer. Not because he wanted to provoke Castiel but... He couldn’t exactly say why. All thoughts in him were heavy and slow-moving. "'Dean is worried.'; 'I'm worried about you, too.'; 'You have to take better care of you and your body.'" He sighed and then sat upright, careful not to put too much pressure on his bulging stomach. "It all just depends on the definition."

He followed Castiel's gaze at the untouched bowl of soup still standing on the bedside table.

"On the definition of what?"

"The definition of good."

Now Castiel was the one who shrugged uncertainly. The smell of chicken soup hung in the air. Sam just wanted to sleep. He did not want to talk to anyone. His back hurt like hell from lying on his side all the time. He put a hand onto his lower back, trying to ease the pain.

"The word 'good' in relation to a health status is mostly defined as the absence of ailments or illnesses," Castiel said. "It's normal to experience some pain when you're pregnant, even when there's no complications."

Sam rose from the bed with a groan, holding his stomach as if it would pull him down again if he didn't. "I'm carrying at least thirty pounds extra weight around. I have to go to the bathroom all the time. I can't really sleep, because somebody gets really wild whenever I try."

"The child should now be less active in the last third of the pregnancy. This is due to the small amount of available space."

Again he had the feeling that Castiel's gaze was drawn to his monstrously swollen stomach. He swallowed down the bitter feeling. There were times when he was almost used to the sight of himself like this. But in other moments he felt the urge to smash every mirror.

"Well, then my child is just an exception. Either that or your textbook 'My happy pregnancy with a nephilim' got it wrong."

"Sam."

Castiel had taken a step towards him, but then dropped his arms helplessly.

"I am doing well considering." Sam laughed for a moment. "I am a man and I'm having a nephilim. I figure 'I'm still alive' is pretty good." He rubbed over his temple. "I just didn't want to have dinner with you because I was exhausted, not hungry and I didn't feel like acting like we're all one big happy family." He shrugged. "So you can go back to my brother and tell him that everything is okay."

"The spell works. You don't have to worry about that."

"Yeah, that's great."

Sam had started pacing back and forth across he room, while massaging his stomach.

"Are we done or is there something else?"

"Should I examine you again? I could make sure that-"

"No, everything is fine."

Castiel nodded. He already held the doorknob in his hand, when he paused and let go of it once more.

"There's another thing we should talk about."

Sam huffed.

"What else do you want?"

"It's about our child." Castiel cocked his head as if searching for the right words. "What makes you so sure that giving it away will be the best option?"

"Did Dean tell you to say that?" Sam's lips were drawn into a narrow line. He clenched his hands into fists. "We already discussed this. It is the best option."

"No, it is not!" He was shocked at how loud Castiel's voice had become. At how different and powerful it sounded. It had been a long time since he had seen Castiel like this. He'd almost forgotten. "You have decided that it's the best option." Now Castiel's voice was softer, resigned. "You alone."

"Because it's the child's only chance for a reasonably normal life and because we can't keep it here. This is a bunker and not," he paused, "a playground."

Castiel shook his head.

"It's not a normal child and you know that."

"Oh really? That's news to me." When he saw Castiel's confused face he shook his head. "You said that the spell..."

"Yes, the spell works. I can feel the child losing more and more of its power every day. I can feel how it is forced more and more into this limited shell of a human body." Castiel glanced down. Sam thought he looked sad. Unhappier than he had ever seen him before. "But the angelic grace won't disappear, it will only be sealed off." Castiel paused. "The spell will not last forever, its grace is much too powerful." Now he looked straight at Sam. "Our child will never be a normal human being, Sam."

"Then... We could extract its grace after the birth, right?"

"Why should we do this?" Only a few muscles in Castiel's face twitched, but Sam could still tell how much the idea horrified him. "Why should we mutilate our child and put it in pain?"

"You're acting as if I'm a cruel monster because I'm trying to give this child a normal life in safety."

"This child is not human." Castiel had started pacing up and down the room, too. "Do not you understand? If you take the grace out of an angel, it won't make a human out of it." He turned to Sam. "Grace is what holds us angels together. If it's missing, we burn out." He shook his head. "It does not happen immediately, but it happens in time. We are like an unstable chemical compound that slowly dissolves."

"I didn't know that."

Castiel had become quiet. Sam touched his shoulder to make a connection. The noise of the ventilation shaft was the only sound that filled the room. They stood there for minutes until Castiel's body relaxed again and he finally nodded.

"You know from personal experience how it feels to live among people and not belong," Castiel whispered. "How it feels to carry the knowledge that you are different. That there is something that will always separate you from everyone else."

"Stop. That's not the same."

Sam pushed against his chest. It was more of a reflex but Castiel did not even waver. His eyes remained as they were, full of sadness.

"Would it have made you happier if you had grown up somewhere else? Without the supernatural, without the threat of Azazel and without your brother? Would it have changed anything?"

"Maybe it would have." Sam crossed his arms and tried to control the tremor in his voice. "Maybe then I wouldn't be here. Maybe I wouldn't be so broken."

Castiel shook his head.

"You know the truth. You know that it would have happened anyway, because it had to happen." He inhaled. "Your destiny would have found you anywhere. The only difference would be that you'd have been unprepared and Dean would not have been by your side."

Sam bit his lip until he tasted the metal of blood.

"Oh, now it's suddenly all about my destiny and the great divine plan again?" Sam snorted. "You remember that you joined us because you believed in free will?"

Castiel did not answer him immediately.

"That we conceived a nephilim was not part of God's plan."

"You might be right."

"Everyone will want to hunt, kill, or use it for their own good." Castiel's eyes were as blue as the sky. "If I'm not there, then no one can protect this child. Certainly not a few ordinary humans who do not even suspect the existence of this world around them." Castiel had taken a step toward Sam. His voice was pleading. "Do you not care? Do you think that you can just turn off your conscience by giving away this child and by telling yourself that it has nothing to do with you? That its fate is none of your business?"

"I don't think it's okay for you to try and make me feel worse about this than I already do." Sam's body was shaking. Even his lips quivered. "I never wanted any of this. Not for the child, not for me, for no one. But I'm not the only one who made a mistake." He raised his head. "It takes two people to bring a child into this world."

"I know that and I am very sorry that I put you in this situation." The hand that lay on Sam's shoulder felt placatory. "I never wanted to hurt you and believe me, I want nothing more than to take the burden off you. I just don't know how to." He exhaled. "The being that grows inside you is my child and I have a duty to protect it."

He paused again. Sam turned away.

"I never asked you for anything but I will ask you now: Please reconsider your decision."

* * *

"Sammy?"

"Mhm?"

Dean put down the wrench and looked first at his work and then at his brother.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I think you made the right decision."

Sam did not answer him. He did not look at him either, instead he ran his hand over the edge of the baby bed that Dean had just built. The wood was polished so smoothly that it caressed his hand. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. He inhaled the quiet and the smell of fresh wood. Then the panic set in again. It was wrong. Everything was wrong. A baby bed with a stars mobile hanging above it didn't belong in a Men of Letters bunker. How should he look after a child? How was he supposed to protect it? He wouldn't manage. He would fail. And then what? He swallowed the tears away.

"I know it's difficult and you did not want any of this." When he felt Dean's embrace on his back, more tears came. "But now it's our baby. You're not alone in this, alright?"

"Our baby?" How strange his own voice sounded.

"Well, yours, mine and Castiel's. Kind of Baby Team Free Will." Dean smiled. "You know Castiel, he's not great at showing his emotions. But I know for a fact that he's happy too and that he would do anything to protect the baby." He nudged Sam, almost tenderly. "You know. Three men and a baby. It'll be funny, like a sitcom. No more 'end of the world' crap. Our new challenges in the future consist of soiled nappies and sleepless nights full of crying. "

Sam whimpered and put his hand over his face. He could not help the tears from falling and Dean from seeing it. These goddamn hormones.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Dean examined him anxiously. "Are you okay?"

"The contractions..." He wiped his eyes. "They come more often now."

"Come on, sit down."

He did as he was told and sat down on the desk chair. Dean's eyes followed him.

"You look very pale, too. I'll get you a glass of water."

Sam nodded.

Instead of leaving immediately, Dean hugged him first, as if he was about to go to war and not just to the kitchen.

"Everything will be fine, Sammy."

Sam whimpered and wrapped his arms around him.

"Can you promise that?"

Dean thought about it.

"Sure, I can." He pulled his lips into a typical Dean smile.

"You've always been a bad liar." Sam cried and laughed at the same time.

"And you've always been an idiot."

"Jerk."

Dean stroked over his wet cheek. "I'll go get your water now."

"Dean?"

"What now? You're starting to get on my nerves."

"The baby... Castiel says it's gonna be a girl."

Dean smiled widely.

"Damn, I only bought blue rompers."

"You know, there's no law that prohibits girls from wearing blue."

Dean laughed, took a step toward the door and opened it.

"I'll get you your water."

"There's something else I need to tell you." He looked at the pattern on the tiles on the floor. His voice was merely a whisper now. "I'm so scared."

No answer.

When he lifted his head, he realized he was alone.


	8. Chapter 8

He knew that he would always love her from the very first moment. Castiel handed him the small human bundle with its flushed face barely peering out from under the blanket.

"Hey, sweetheart."

He was astonished at the determination with which she reached for his thumb, while she pulled a face. Using the fingers of the other, free hand, he traced the contours of her face, caressing the soft baby skull covered in dark fuzz. Her blue and surprisingly alert eyes followed his every move.

"She's perfect."

Castiel nodded.

"It's kind of like standing in front of a miniature model and marveling at all the details the artist remembered to think of." Dean said.

Castiel watched her silently.

"Most babies are born physically intact. But of course I am relieved that this is true for her as well."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Dean stroked over her nose. Watched her small chest rise and fall. "I mean, she has eyelashes. There's fingernails on her little fingers." He struggled for the right words. "I think I'm just the proudest uncle in the world."

Only after he had looked at the face of the baby for a long time, did he remember something else, something important. He was almost ashamed of the fact that the child in his arms had taken all his attention and love so completely, that there had been no thoughts left for anything else.

"How is Sammy?" he asked softly. Sam who had nearly died of panic. Sam who was, usually, the first thing on his mind in the morning and the last at night.

"He lost a lot of blood but I was able to heal him." He noticed that Castiel seemed to choose his words even more carefully than usual. "Physically, his condition is stable and you no longer have to worry about him dying."

The baby fell asleep. She probably dreamed of drinking milk. Her mouth made sucking movements. She still held onto his finger.

"That's good, right?"

Castiel nodded.

"Yes, you could say that everything went according to plan. The spell worked, Sam survived the birth, and with seven pounds his daughter is within an average range of birthweight."

"Can I go in and show him his daughter now?"

Castiel did not move. Everything about his posture remained immobile.

"You did say he was fine?"

"Yes." Castiel nodded way too fast. "He is just exhausted and confused."

Dean stroked very gently over the baby's cheek. Careful not to wake her up. Only her eyelids twitched.

"Maybe he should rest first?"

Castiel nodded again and took hold of the doorknob.

"I'll check on him again."

"And I... I'm probably the most useful to him if I look after you right now, right?"

Dean kissed the baby's forehead.

"Just give him some time," Castiel said, opened the door and left Dean and the baby behind.

* * *

"I don't know if I should be worried." The baby's head leaned against his shoulder. She seemed content with herself and the world around her. Dean paced the room. "Charlie is a great name and everything. The Charlie we knew was a wonderful person." He stopped for a moment. "But Jessica as a second name?" He shook his head and resumed walking. "I mean, seriously, Mom's the only one missing on that list to complete the triangle of women whose death Sam feels responsible for."

Castiel stood in the middle of the room as if nothing of this had anything to do with him. Dean never knew what kind of thoughts were swimming behind his blue eyes. Sometimes he found it interesting, sometimes, like right now, it just made him angry. He wondered if this was a general problem with angels, or just a part of Castiel's personality.

"Do you think it's a good thing Sam named his daughter after dead people?"

Castiel shrugged.

"Charlie is not a very unusual name. It's been especially popular gender-neutral name since the rise of Charlie Chaplin. If Sam favors this name then-"

"That's not what I’m talking about." His voice became so loud that the baby became restless. She wrinkled her brow and rowed with her arms. Dean kissed her forehead in apology and lowered his voice as he continued. "How is she ever going to be happy with that name. A constant reminder of all these dead people?" He shook his head. "We're not talking about naming someone after a beloved dead grandmother. Someone who went peacefully in her bed at 91. We're talking about being burned alive. About blood, lots of blood." Again he kissed the child. "This is like a constant accusation for being alive. These are way too big shoes to fill."

He turned around and left. He simply left Castiel standing in the meeting room.

"Where are you going?"

Castiel followed him into the kitchen, where Dean was shoveling milk powder into a baby bottle with one hand while securing the child on his arm with the other.

"She is hungry. She needs her bottle."

"But shouldn't Sam..."

"Sam is in his bed. He's busy staring at the wall."

He put the bottle down onto the work surface so loudly that the baby started to cry. Maybe it was the hunger that brought tears to her eyes, and bared her toothless mouth.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, but the bottle has to cool down first. Can you take her for a second?"

He pushed the child into Castiel's arms and held the bottle under the stream of water from the tap.

"He isn't well. You shouldn't -"

"She was born three weeks ago. Three!" Dean interrupted him.

"A so-called baby blues is normal. It's caused by a change of hormones." Castiel looked at the child in his arms, who was still whimpering. "I’ve read that in a book about pregnancies."

Dean did not say anything. He turned back to Charlie and handed her the bottle.

"Okay, now it should be fine."

As soon as she had the bottle at her mouth, the screaming stopped. A single tear had caught in her eyelashes.

"Do you wanna continue feeding her?" He put Castiel's hand onto the bottle and slowly pulled his own hand off. "That's easier if you're carrying her anyway."

Castiel did not move. As if he was scared of doing something wrong and the baby would start screaming again.

"Do all angels have blue eyes?"

Castiel raised his eyes questioningly.

"The cheekbones and the nose... Sam looks exactly the same in the picture with mom that I got up in my room. But no one in our family has eyes like this." He smiled and stroked over her stomach. Her big eyes were fixed on him and she stopped drinking. A thread of milk ran from the corners of her mouth. "You two got almost the same eye color."

Castiel shoved the bottle back into her mouth.

"You should not be angry with him."

"With Sam? I know. And I'm sorry I got so loud." He sighed. "Besides, I'm not mad at him. I'm just worried."

"I'm sure he'll feel better soon."

Dean leaned his head against Castiel's shoulder. "You're good with her," he smiled, "like you two belong together."

* * *

The door opened and then quietly closed again. Dean lifted the blanket and laid himself down onto the bed. Only a faint whimper revealed that he had not returned alone.

"You brought Charlie?"

Dean nodded and moved closer to him so that Castiel could feel the baby's warmth as well.

"She was crying."

"But does she not sleep with Sam?"

"Sam doesn't seem to care much if she cries or not. I mean, I heard her through thick concrete walls and he apparently doesn't even notice her when she's lying right next to him."

"What's wrong with her?" Castiel sat up. Now that the door was closed, there was no light in the room anymore. The darkness that enveloped them was complete. He still found her small forehead and touched it with his forefinger. He did not feel any injuries and she was not ill. "Is she hungry? Should I prepare a bottle for her?"

Dean shook his head.

"I've already tried that. She doesn't need a new diaper either. I think she just needed a bit of body heat and closeness."

"Should I carry her around for a bit? Unlike you, I do not need sleep."

"No, just leave it. She's quiet and calm right now. Besides..." He stroked through her soft hair and breathed in her scent. He didn't know what it reminded him of, but it was a reassuring smell. "It's just kind of nice to hold her."

It had become quiet. Even Charlie was sleeping. He heard her steady breathing. Although Castiel could not sleep, his vessel and his mind were both in a state of deep relaxation.

"Do you think he will return?" Dean whispered into the dark.

"Sam? Of course. He will realize that you took her out of her bed and-"

Dean huffed. "I was talking about the angel, Cas. You think he's going to return and try to take her with him?" He clenched his jaw. "He's got to have some kind of plan. Why else would he have fathered her in the first place?"

For a few moments it was quiet.

"If I were him I wouldn't try that. I swear, he wouldn't survive that."

"But maybe... Maybe she needs him? Maybe she needs heaven?" Castiel's voice was tight. "She is not human even if the spell might make it seem like that." Dean hugged the sleeping child and moved away from him. "I know you don't want to hear it, but that does not change the fact itself. It doesn't change who and what she is. She is partly an angel. And the human existence, it's so limited... For us angels anyway."

"Are you saying she wouldn't be happy?" Dean took a deep breath. "Her existence isn't limited, not to her. She's learning new things every single day. She can already smile, she recognizes light and she can reach for stuff. You know, pretty soon she'll be able to turn around all by herself."

"I just meant - "

"She's got us Castiel," Dean cut him off. "She certainly doesn't need freaking heaven of all things! No one needs heaven."


	9. Chapter 9

Tired.

That was the first word that came to his mind, if he'd have had to describe his emotional state to anyone. The other words were: empty, gray and exhausted. But there was no one there to ask him. Not Castiel, who seemed to have shunned him ever since Charlie's birth. Their brief encounters were limited to running into each other in the corridor, quickly nodding and then looking down at the floor. Not Dean either, whose patience Sam had stretched too far, whose gaze became more and more reproachful and enraged with every day.

"You have to take care of her when she cries. You have to hold her, talk to her and see what she needs."

"I know that," he tried to defend himself.

"Oh yeah? Why don't you give it a try then?"

They argued so much. And when they weren't arguing, Sam got an angry look out of too green eyes before Dean would lift the baby out of bed and they'd disappear together.

"She wasn't even crying," he would call after him. "Besides, I just fed her." But he'd keep lying on his bed.

Relief.

That was always the first feeling that flowed through Sam in these moments, followed by shame. Another entry on the long list of things he had failed at. Again he had disappointed another person, two actually, who were close to him.

It should not be so difficult to take care of a baby, especially since she was not just any baby, but his daughter. What was wrong with him?

Sometimes, when she lay next to him and Dean was not quick enough to take her away and she did not cry, but just looked at him with her big eyes, he considered her like a rare animal from a distant world.

"What are you doing here? Couldn't you have picked a better place to be born?"

Again he got no answer, only small fingers that touched his face and then grabbed his hair.

She was quite objectively a pretty baby. Big blue eyes, long eyelashes and thick dark hair. She looked like the incarnated dream of any baby doll collector. She was not the problem, he knew that. The problem was him. That he felt nothing when he looked at her, nothing at all.

Deep within him it was clear that was not normal. But it wasn't like a lot of things in his life had been normal. Nothing about this whole damn pregnancy had been normal. He tried to laugh but it came out strangled. Again she reached out her hand to his face.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

He tried to console himself with the thought that he didn't even feel love for Dean right now. He felt no love for anyone. Not even for himself. He felt nothing and certainly no comfort.

* * *

He decided to change something that day. From then on, he forced himself to get up as soon as the baby cried. Most of the time it worked. Most of the time, Dean was still faster anyway.

Everything always seemed so easy when Dean did things. How he held Charlie. How he managed to change her diaper with only one hand, while holding her with the other. Laughing, joking and kissing her. Dean was a pro at dressing her and closing the little buttons on the tiny clothes. It was as if he had never done anything else.

If Sam tried these things, it went horribly. He did everything wrong. He didn't even manage to lift her probably and support her head. Every movement of his was awkward and cautious. And she, feeling his insecurity, would start crying. She cried when she lay on the changing table and he didn't maneuver her head and small arms through the collar and sleeves of her sweater quickly enough. She cried when he took too long with the milk and she had to wait until it had cooled off. She cried when she spit out the pacifier and he didn't immediately find it again, because it had fallen under some shelf. She cried and cried. She threw her head back and forth. It was clear to him that who she really wanted was Dean. Like everyone had always wanted Dean. In those moments, he wanted to dissolve into thin air.

Dean came running every time he heard her. He'd give Sam one of his looks and throw new accusations his way.

"You can't leave her lying out there on the changing table for so long, Sam. She gets cold. You really have to get yourself together. You need to become quicker. It's just a diaper."

"Seriously, Sam? You can't just pick her up like that, right after feeding her. Of course she's gonna spit the milk all over you."

It was the same thing every single time: "Just hand her to me." Dean reached out and took her. "Everything is fine, sweetie."

In Dean's rocking arm, she immediately calmed down.

_What a fuck up he was._

Dean's innate talent for dealing with Charlie raised Sam's standard for failure quite a bit. He began to fear the sound of the door opening and the steps in the hallway.

"Please don't cry," he'd whisper into her ear as soon as she started whimpering. "Everything is fine." Again and again his nervous glance flew to the door. Hoping that Dean hadn't heard her. Hoping that he was too busy with other things.

* * *

He felt someone shaking his shoulder and woke up with a start. Dean's face hovered a few inches above his. He could see the anger in his eyes.

"Are you trying to get her killed? You can't let her sleep on her stomach!"

Sam looked to his side where he remembered laying down Charlie. Of course, she wasn't there anymore. She was in Dean's arms.

"I found her face down on a down pillow. While you were asleep.“

He considered saying something in his defense. Something like "What's your problem? She was only sleeping." But everything that left his mouth was a lame "Sorry, I just fell asleep somehow."

"She can't turn her head in this position and she can't sit up either." At least he didn't sound as angry anymore, just disappointed. "She could have suffocated with you right next to her."

But she hadn't. She was fine.

He looked at her face. She was sucking on her pacifier, her ribcage rising and falling, content in Dean's arms.

"Just promise you'll take better care of her from now on."

Dean had not planted the seed of fear. It has always been there. At most, Dean had made the fear more pronounced.

Sam had always known that Charlie would die. He'd just thought the danger would come from hunters, angels or demons, and not from his own inability to take care of her.

He would drop her off the changing table, she would drown in the bath or a childhood illness would kill her. In the unlikely event that she'd manage to survive until she was a toddler, she'd inevitably put some something in her mouth and suffocate. Or she would touch a socket. There were endless possibilities. Why was the world just such a dangerous place? Why were babies so sensitive? Why could they die so easily?

He was painfully aware of the irony of the situation. In the beginning, when she'd just been nothing but the thought of a nephilim growing inside of him, he would have given anything to get rid of her.

He didn't really sleep anymore. Sometimes he would wake up at night and lean over her bed. Until he had convinced himself that her chest was still rising and falling steadily, he was sure that she was dead and he felt nothing but a cold panic that made it hard to breathe.

Every time before he put her down, he pushed his own head into the cot, to test whether you really couldn't choke on the pillow.

But it did not help. He was still a lousy father. He made mistakes. Just like now.

Charlie was crying. She was kicking and her face was red. He had already opened all the drawers, had looked on the changing table and under the blanket.

Then he heard the door open.

"Do you know where her pacifier is?" he asked before Dean could start scolding him. "I looked everywhere but-"

"I threw it away."

"You did what?"

As he turned, he saw a pacifier in Dean's hand.

"Sorry, I was going to put down the new one after I disinfected it, but then she needed her bottle and I forgot about it." Dean stepped up to the bed and handed her the pacifier as if it were the golden key to a city. Immediately the crying stopped and she began to suckle.

"The new ones are produced without a softener." He stroked over her head and got a smile back. "Did you know they put softeners in eighty percent of all children's toys? That's messed up."

_"Dean, we live in an underground bunker; we kill monsters for a living. You really think softeners are our main problem here?"_

Part of him wanted to tell him that. Another part felt bad because he had not thought about softeners and the potential danger to his daughter at all. She looked content now, her eyes kept shutting. Then Sam noticed something. He shoved her bib aside with his hand.

"Where is her giraffe?"

It wasn't under the pillow either. He looked around the room.

"Sam, that thing was Made in China crap. It smelt like plastic."

"Well, I bought it for her." He knew how ridiculous his reaction was. It was just a stupid plastic toy he had ordered on a whim off the internet, after he'd realized a baby was going to be an actual part of his life. "I got it for her. You didn't have the right to just throw it away."

He clenched his hands into fists, swallowed down any other choice words, turned around and left.

"It was just a stupid plastic giraffe," Dean called after him.

Dean just wouldn’t understand.


	10. Chapter 10

"How are you, Sam?" Castiel asked carefully.

"I'm fine."

Sam stood in the kitchen and nodded without raising his eyes. Apparently he waited for the kettle to switch off, but the water was still not bubbling. By now Charlie was so big that she barely fit into his arms. She was sucking on her teether.

"Da," she said, holding it out to Castiel. A long thread of saliva ran from her mouth.

"No, thank you," he smiled at her. "I think you have more use for it than me. My vessel already has a complete set of teeth."

She said nothing, but put it back into her mouth.

Dean had said that the teething would bring Sam to his absolute limits. He had looked at Castiel as if he'd expected him to do something about it.

As far as Castiel could tell, Charlie looked content. Satisfied and well taken care of. She wore a romper suit he had never seen before. A blue one with an embroidered teddy bear on it.

"Should I take her?"

Now Sam looked up. "I can handle it."

The kettle bubbled quietly. Castiel sensed Sam's wish that the water would boil quickly so that he could escape this conversation. He, too, felt the pull to move away from this situation. This feeling confused him. On the one hand, because it was unpleasant and also deeply human, on the other hand, because he nevertheless felt physically drawn to Sam. How could that be. How could one feel two opposite sensations at the same time?

"I realize that you can handle it, I just thought..." Castiel paused. "If I held her, you would have both hands free to prepare her food."

The water hadn't been boiling yet, but Sam took the kettle from the plate and poured the warm water into a bowl of powder, which he then mixed with a spoon. Charlie watched his actions and repeatedly tried to grab the bowl.

"I can do it without your help."

"I have already held her a few times before." Castiel wondered how he could explain this adequately "Whenever Dean takes her to his room and I lie in bed with him, I hold her too."

"That's really great for you and Dean."

Sam turned on the tap, most of his words were swallowed by the noise. He poured a splash of cold water into the mash and stirred again.

"I thought you should know that," Castiel tried again. "If you are worried about my ability to take care of a baby."

"I’m not. Dean's always with you anyway, and he's-" Sam paused and then shrugged. "He's like the natural born babynator."

"I'm not sure if I understandd the message behind your words." Castiel cocked his head. "Is this a statement or an accusation?"

Sam did not answer. He turned his back on Castiel and put the powder back in the cupboard.

"Dean means well, Sam." Castiel sighed. "He's just worried." Sam did not answer. He held Charlie close and tried to balance the plate with his other hand. She took advantage of this opportunity to grasp the food with both hands.

"Fuck!" Angrily Sam set the plate down on the counter and reached for the kitchen roll to clean her fingers.

"Dean always worries about the people he cares about." Castiel started again. "And these people are first and foremost you, and now Charlie, too. It's in his nature to feel that way, I think."

"I know what Dean is like. I've known him for a bit longer than you have, but thanks for the reminder." Sam crumpled the paper towel and threw it into the bin. Charlie was still protesting and pulling down the corners of her mouth. At least she wasn't trying to get to the food again. Sam managed to pick up both the bowl and the child. "Can we go now or is there something else?"

"Sam." Castiel thought about putting a hand on his shoulder, but Sam probably would not have wanted that. And then Sam's unpleasant feelings would wash over Castiel like a wave. It was more prudent not to touch. They had become strangers. Should a child not bond people instead of alienate them? "We should talk to each other... Take stock of the situation."

"Take stock?" Sam laughed as he rocked the child in his arms. Charlie's cries grew more and more impatient. She was hungry and seeing her food right in front of her didn't make the situation any better.

"Well, she is almost six months old now. It seems an appropriate time to talk about her development, and to plan for the future."

"You really want to talk to me about her development? Now?" Sam laughed again. Again, it did not sound happy. "Are you a pediatrician now or something? But whatever. Sure." He turned Charlie around so that she was facing Castiel. Her eyes were questioning, skeptical.

"Da da de la la," she said, keeping a straight face.

"So? You think she's well-developed?"

"I think she meets all age-appropriate norms, so yes. She's even started putting syllables together." Castiel took a deep breath. "You're doing really well with her."

The sound that escaped Sam's mouth reminded him of air escaping a car tire. "Great. Was that all?"

If only he could make Sam look at him. Maybe then he would understand. Maybe then they'd stop behaving like strangers.

"She's my daughter, too."

Castiel put two fingers to Charlie's forehead. She did not make a sound, just kept looking at him. He could feel their connection. Then Sam pulled her away.

"Oh really? I almost forgot."

"Your messages confuse me." Castiel slowly raised his eyes, from the baby's face to Sam’s. "Your words can be interpreted in many different ways and I always seem to choose the wrong one. You made me swear that I would tell no one that I am her father. You also seem to want to avoid encounters with me."

"I'm avoiding you?" Sam's voice had grown louder as he gestured with his free hand over the kitchen counter. "You left me hanging and made me deal with all this shit on my own!"

"That was never my intention. Taking care of an infant is unfamiliar to me."

"Oh, so you just figured you'd wait for her to grow up, or better yet, for her to be become an angel, so you can talk to her about celestial affairs on an abstract meta-level. Until then I could take care of her changing her diapers? Is that it?"

"La la la da." Charlie felt an urge to speak and raised her arms. Sam casually stroked over her head.

"That is not what I planned to do, even though it might be what I wished for at times." Castiel also extended his hand towards Charlie, then let it sink. "A part of her is an angel, just like me. Her grace is sealed off, but that does not change the fact that we can understand each other on a level to which you humans have no access." Castiel sighed. "But that's not the point."

"And what exactly is the point?"

"That I don't know what to do, Sam." He had become quieter. "That I do not know how I can ever make you happy again, even though it's what I want the most."

Sam shook his head.

"Just leave me alone." He turned away. "You can see how hungry she is."

"No, I won't do that."

With a quick movement, he grabbed Sam by the shoulders and leaned forward, their faces only inches apart.

"I want to talk to you and understand you. You're angry because I don't take care of Charlie. But if I try to, you withhold her from me and your feelings towards me are negative. You tell me to leave you alone, but when I do..." He shook his head and broke off. "Every attempt at communication between us ends with your rejection of me growing only stronger. Please, Sam, what can I do to make it better?" He dropped his hands. "I withheld the truth from Dean because you asked me to, even though it does not feel right." He swallowed. "Everything about this does not feel right. I wish things between us could be as they once were. As they were the night after the concert. But every step towards you is like walking through quicksand."

He put a hand to Sam's cheek and was amazed that he did not push it away. Maybe it was because he was still holding Charlie. Maybe he needed both arms to keep her safe. Castiel felt Sam's warmth under his fingertips, the trembling of his eyelids.

"I don't regret what happened that night. I only regret that it seems to have made you so unhappy. I wish we could find a way to engage with each other in a positive way again." He didn't let go of Sam. "I would do anything for you. All my feelings for you are still strictly of a positive nature."

Somewhere glass shattered. Almost synchronously, they turned their heads toward the door from which the sound had come. Castiel first noticed the lake of broken pieces of glass and beer on the floor. Its sour smell filled the room. Castiel's gaze wandered higher.

"Dean!" Sam shouted and wiggled out of Castiel's grip. He was almost running before he realized that he was still holding Charlie. "Take her. Please."

In the next moment, Castiel felt the heavy heat of the child's body, then Sam was gone and Dean too. Charlie's crying increased to a loud howl.

He remained alone with a screaming baby in his arms and surrounded by smelly shards of glass.


	11. Chapter 11

"Dean?"

The bunker was too big; he could have been anywhere. Sam tried to narrow it down by thinking in probabilities. How likely was it that Dean would be in the library? Sam pushed the door open and looked into the darkened room. The familiar smell of old books entered his nose.

Very unlikely. Dean usually left the researching part to Sam. Besides, what would Dean be doing in the library now. Researching how nephilims were created? Sam sighed, closed the door and walked on.

How likely was it that Dean would be in his room? More likely. Dean loved his room. Sometimes Sam had the feeling that Dean was trying to make up for all the lost years without a permanent home by making such a fuss about his room. As if he were a teenager who suddenly didn't have to share his room with the annoying little brother anymore. Maybe they would stay that way forever: a teenager and his annoying little brother.

Sam hurried up, he started to run. Green tiles moved past his field of vision. The sound of his footsteps was thrown back from the walls. How likely was it that the beer bottle shards on the kitchen door hadn't been Dean's? That someone else in their bunker had dropped their drink, say a ghost or an angry witch?

He passed the bathroom without stopping. No light crept from under the doorway into the corridor. Dean wouldn't be sitting on the bathroom floor in complete darkness, would he?

How likely was it that Dean had been there in the kitchen, but hadn't overheard anything? Maybe he'd just arrived at the door when he'd dropped the beer and had to run to get something to clean it up.

 _Very, very unlikely,_ repeated his inner voice to the beat of his footsteps.

He had finally reached Dean's room.

"Dean?"

He knocked. No reaction. He opened the door. Nobody was there. The pictures on Dean's bedside table stared at him reproachfully. Mom and Dean smiling at the camera. Dean and himself toasting with beer. Sam turned away from the gallery of betrayal. He swallowed the bitter lump that had formed in his throat and took a step back. After closing the door, he listened to the silence. Where else could Dean even be? What likelihoods did he have left to consider.

He found him ten minutes later in a place he had never suspected. Dean was in Sam's room, crouched on the floor next to the cot, Charlie's cloud music box in his hand. Dean pulled on the cord. 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' started playing. When it stopped, Dean pulled the cord again. Sam watched this take place three times. He listened to the music becoming quieter and stopping three times. Three times, he watched Dean pull on the cord. He considered leaving. Where would he even go. He was already in his own room.

"Just two questions and this time I want the truth."

Dean did not look up. His voice was almost calm. Nothing betrayed the emotions that were probably raging inside him. The children's song was still playing. Sam knew it by heart. If he'd wanted to, he could have sang along.

It had been a present from Dean. Dean had sung the lullaby to her. Sam had watched them from the doorframe and hadn't known what he should wish for more. That he too could be so loving with Charlie. Or for himself to be small again and have Dean sing him a lullaby, cover him up and tell him that everything would be fine.

"Is Charlie Castiel's daughter?"

Sam wondered what he could say to somehow save the situation. There was nothing. So he nodded, facing the floor.

"When were you planning on telling me?"

"Never."

Now Dean nodded.

Had that been the second question already? It was so quiet in the room. There was nothing but the hiss of the ventilation system. For a moment he felt the irrational hope that that had been it. That they would never talk about it again. That they'd just go to the kitchen and drink a beer. It would be the classic Winchester way to deal with a problem.

He should've known better. This time he had gone too far. This time he had done too much harm.

Dean did not get up slowly. He jumped to his feet and the next moment he grabbed Sam by the collar of his shirt.

"There are thousands of angels in heaven," Dean shouted. "But you had to go and fuck the only one off-limits? The only one that was mine?"

His instinct told Sam to fight back. That he knew the right moves to get out of Dean's grip. But his heart told him that he more than deserved this. It would be good if Dean beat him up, a kind of catharsis. It would be even better if he could forgive Sam afterwards. But that was more than he could hope for. If the roles were reversed, he probably wouldn't be able to forgive Dean either.

"Say something!"

Dean's grip on his throat tightened. It was getting harder to breathe. He could see the mixture of anger and tears in the face above his.

"Why?" Sam shrugged. His voice sounded coarse. "It doesn't make a difference. I could tell you that I'm sorry. That I was drunk and that it was a one-time mistake." He swallowed. "But it's not going to change anything. It happened and I can't undo it."

"Why Castiel?" Dean's hand trembled.

"I don't know." Sam swallowed. "I was lonely and he was there. And there was this look in his eyes, you know?" His voice was little more than a whisper now. "Like I mattered. Like I was special."

Dean laughed.

"No, I'll tell you why you did it. Because you knew that I-" He stopped, rubbing over his eyes. "That he was important to me and you could not stand it! You couldn't just let me be happy for once."

"I’m sorry."

"No, you're not! Maybe that's the worst thing about all of this." Once again, Dean grabbed him with all his strength. "You're never sorry, that's the problem." He snorted. "You couldn't stand it, even when we were kids, when I wanted something just for myself. Every toy. Every... You just couldn't cope with the idea of me having something you didn't."

There was still so much anger, so much disappointment in Dean's eyes. Knowing that he was responsible for it turned Sam's stomach.

"I am sorry," he repeated.

"I sacrificed my damn childhood for you!" At least Dean's hands broke away from his neck. "I sold my soul for you and that's how you thank me? By sleeping with the only person who ever really meant something to me? By getting pregnant just to fuck me up!"

"The pregnancy had nothing to do with you." Now Sam wriggled out of his grip. "That was an accident!"

"An accident, yeah, sure." Dean snorted. "Thanks to your little baby drama and all the books I've read to help you out, I just happen to know that angels have to consciously decide to father children."

"Maybe so." Sam moved away from Dean and straightened up. He was starting to get angry. "But that's not on me. You should ask yourself why he preferred to do this to me and not to you."

The force of the blow had Sam staggering backwards. This imprint on his skin would last him a good while. He clenched his teeth. It was just one punch. He had experienced worse in his life than getting hit in the face by Dean. Hell for example.

"You didn't just have sex behind my back. You lied to me!" Dean shouted. "You two messed with me for over a fucking year!" He wheezed. "What was it like, when you met in the corridors of the bunker? Did you laugh about me and how stupid I am?"

Sam held his cheek. Now that the adrenaline was leaving his body, the guilt returned twice as strong. In a way this was worse than hell.

"I swear it wasn't like this. It was a one time mistake and... I am so sorry, Dean," he said. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Oh you didn't mean to, huh?“ Dean snorted. "Well, whoops, look like it happened anyway! Just like when you accidentally started the apocalypse. Or hey! How about the time you left me to rot in purgatory or how about-"

"Dean... please..."

"Yes, how about the night Mom died? How about that one?"

"I was Charlie’s age back,“ Sam said. "Are you really trying to blame me for what happened then?"

"If it weren't for you, ninety percent of the crap in my life would never have happened."

"Don't say that Dean. Please." Sam wiped over his face. "Not you."

Dean turned around.

"I wish you were dead," he said when he reached the door. "No, I don't, because then I'd probably blame myself for that. I just wish you'd never been born. I wish I didn't have a brother. Maybe I'd have an actual life instead."

Then he slammed the door shut and left.

* * *

"Sam?"

"Go away!" It wasn't the voice he wanted to hear. He buried his head deep into the pillow and let the tears run. "Please Castiel, I just can't right now."

He thought he'd hear him walk away. Instead the doorknob was pressed down.

Sam wanted to pull the blanket over his head, but then his gaze fell on the child in Castiel's arms, his child. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were as swollen as his own.

"She's been crying for an hour now and I just don't know what to do."

Sam nodded and stretched out his arms.

"Give her to me."

Charlie snuggled up against him. Immediately the crying stopped.

"Hey, it's all good." He kissed her heated forehead. "I'm here." It was strange. How he could simultaneously deeply regret the situation that had led to her existence and love her more than he had ever loved anything in his life. Was that pure biology? "Dean, is he...?"

"He left, yes. He took the car."

Sam nodded. "Did he say anything else to you?"

"No."

It was hard to read Castiel's gaze. He looked sorrow-stricken, but on the other hand he always had this slight veil of melancholy around him.

"Did he pack his things?"

"No."

Sam tried not to feel so much relief. Hope was often like too thin ice on a lake. If you collapsed you drowned.

"He will come back, won't he?" Castiel sat down on the edge of the bed and looked questioningly at Sam.

"I don't know." Sam kissed Charlie's forehead. "But if he does, you need to come up with a good apology if you want him to forgive you."

"He forgave me for swallowing the souls from purgatory to become God." Castiel reached for the child and stroked through the dark hair she had inherited from him. "He also forgave me for killing Raphael's angels." Castiel cocked his head. "I see that as a sign that we have a very strong bond."

Sam shook his head.

"This is different than near-apocalypses." He searched for the right words. "This is worse." Charlie's breathing was calm now. She had probably fallen asleep from all the crying and all the despair. "You should tell him that I asked you to not tell him."

"Which is the truth."

"Yeah, see. There you go."

They stayed quiet for a moment.

"Is he disappointed because we withheld the truth from him?"

Sam shrugged.

"Yeah, but that's not the only reason. He's mainly angry that you are Charlie's father. That she exists at all."

"I don’t understand." Castiel raised his eyebrows questioningly. "He feels great affection for Charlie. He takes great pleasure in caring for her. Why should he now wish that she had not been conceived?"

Sam got up. "Just tell him you love him and that you're sorry, okay?“ Carefully he put Charlie down into her crib. "You do love him, don't you?"

"Yes, of course. I feel very positively towards Dean." Sam had walked to the closet and started to throw clothes into his bag. "Just as I feel towards you."

"You should skip the second part."

"But-"

"No buts. Humans are monogamous, they don't want to hear stuff like that. And you're Dean's partner."

"Why?"

Sam laughed bitterly.

"Listen, you should know best what exactly is is that connects you and Dean. Apart from all the fateful 'I pulled you out of hell' stuff."

"No, that's not what I meant." Castiel shook his head. "Why should humans live monogamously? I have watched earth for a long time and-"

"Just tell him that you love him."

Sam pulled out another bag from under the bed. He began throwing in baby clothes and diapers.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm packing."

"I can see that, but for what purpose?"

Castiel leaned forward as if he saw a traveling bag for the first time in his life.

Sam paused and looked up at him. "Me and Dean... I don't think that's a good combination right now."

"You want to leave us?" He seemed to finally understand. "You want to leave with Charlie?"

"We'll manage. And let's not kid ourselves. A bunker is not a place to raise a child anyway."

He tried to smile.

"But she is not just any kid, she is a - "

"We'll manage anyway."

"Dean and you - You could make up? He could forgive you?" He said it as if it was quite simple and as if Sam wouldn't have been able to think of it himself. "You two are very close and you have forgiven each other much worse things."

Sam snorted, then went back to packing.

"But..." Castiel thought about it, and then moved to block the door. "I do not want you to go."

"You can't always get what you want in life, Castiel." Sam straightened up. "You can't have everything you want. Not even you. Let me get back to packing."


	12. Chapter 12

Dean stood in the doorway where the light of the old-fashioned little lamp on Sam's bedside table couldn’t reach him. He was watching the scene as if he was watching a play.

"You know, there's some scientists who say people shouldn't have children because of climate change," Sam was just telling his daughter.

Charlie lay on her blanket on Sam's bed trying to put a colorful ball of terry cloth into her mouth. It did not work. The ball was bigger than her head. Nevertheless, she seemed quite satisfied. Her legs rowed in the air and some drool dribbled out of her mouth as she made squeaky baby noises.

"Sixty tons of carbon dioxide could be saved each year. If you get rid of your car you're only saving two." He held out two fingers that she immediately grabbed. "Imagine, even five hundred vegans who don't drive cares can't save all the CO2 you use up."

She noticed that she was being talked to, so she smiled and chuckled. She didn't let go of his fingers and tried to guide them to her mouth.

"Oh no, Charlie, I know exactly what you're gonna do.“ Sam released his fingers and tickled her stomach. "I don't like this game much. Not since you got your teeth."

Her shrill laugh was thrown back from the concrete walls.

"It's not your fault, and it's not like you personally are doing anything wrong. It's just a calculation that includes what energies were used to make the things you need, like your milk powder, your diapers, or your toys. Your breathing..." He reached for the ball that lay forgotten on the bed. With her blue eyes, she followed his every move as she tried to take it from him. "And if you were ever to have children, they would again produce more CO2 and pollute the environment."

They looked happy as they interacted with each other, despite what had happened, despite the topic and despite the packed suitcases in the corner of the room. Charlie was Sam's daughter. They belonged together and he, Dean, stood alone in the shadows, where nobody saw him.

 _"It’s always been like this."_ Dean touched the cool tiles of the wall with his fingertips. _"You were always right in the middle of it, but never fully there."_

The pain of Sam's betrayal still throbbed in his veins, but it now only came in waves, it ebbed and flowed.

"I think that's a weird theory,“ Sam was just telling Charlie. "I mean, we all know that the earth would be better off without humans. To say there should be fewer people, so that others can continue living just as before, seems like cheating to me."

She still looked at him with interest, as if she had an opinion on the topic too.

"Da da la," she said and then laughed again.

"I don't think people consciously decide not to have children just to protect the climate." He shook his head. "I think Arthur Schopenhauer's theory makes more sense. Have you heard of it?"

She chuckled her approval as her fingers fingered the terry cloth. Dean longed to walk into the room, just hug her to feel her warmth and have her smile close to him.

_But she was Sam's daughter. Sam's and Castiel's._

"He says that you shouldn't have a child in order to spare a future human the suffering that every human being will suffer at some point in their life. It's inevitable."

Again she laughed and held out the ball to him, as if she expected him to take it into his mouth too.

"And you, my little monster, you're a Winchester, that means you're totally fucked."

He stroked over her arm. She tried to reach for his hair. Dean could not say what had changed, the light seemed brighter now. Was Sam stepping closer to the door, or had only his own perception changed. He now recognized how bad Sam looked. Even from a distance, the traces of the tears that buried themselves in his face were clearly visible.

"At some point, all the hunters, angels, and demons will figure out what you really are and they will hunt you down. It will happen. It's something of an unwritten law, the worst that could possible happen will happen, you know?" He looked at the baby. "Besides, there's bound to be some important role for you in this stupid fucking game. I don't know, ‚Apocalypse Part 2 - The Rise of Hell‘, something like that."

Dean's stomach contracted. There were many things he didn't know. How he and Sam could go on and what role Castiel would play in his life. But he knew one thing for sure: he would never let anyone get too close to Charlie. No chance.

Charlie was still laughing up at Sam. She had turned onto her stomach and tried to crawl towards him.

"Castiel was right. Destiny just repeats itself and no one knows better than me how crappy that feels." Sam laughed and then rubbed over his eyes. "Neat, huh? I mean, at first I didn't want you. Then I was terrified that you'd die because I was doing something wrong, and now..." He breathed in heavily. "That won't happen and even if it did, it wouldn't be permanent. That's another Winchester thing; dying would be far too easy."

He took her little hand in his.

"So you won't simply die. But it's possible that everyone you love and everyone who's important to you will suffer in front of your eyes, will break and die in some cruel twisted way. And there won't be anything you can do to stop it." He took a deep breath. "If you haven't before, then you will hate me then, for having brought you into this world, for giving you this life." He shrugged, then released her hand. "I love you, but that doesn't change the fact that we all, including yourself, would have been much better off if you had never been born."

He gulped. "Or better yet, if I had never been born." He laughed sadly. "Dean and me not driving around the country in Dad's old, inefficient car to hunt monsters would have already saved a lot of CO2."

Only now did Dean emerge from the shadows of the door.

"You shouldn't call Baby inefficient." Sam did not even seem surprised to see him. Maybe he had expected him. Or maybe he was just exhausted. He did not care for the joke. He didn’t laugh. "Cars have feelings too, you know.“

Sam stared at him out of his big tear-soaked eyes. Dean looked uncertainly at the ground and then at Charlie.

"Can I hold her once more?"

Sam was still looking at him. Now only a bit more timid. Did he smell the alcohol? Dean hadn't drunk that much.

"Please, Sam. I would never do anything to her."

"I know."

Sam handed him the child. She was so big now that he had trouble carrying her. She weighed at least as much as a sixpack.

"Hey, sweetheart.“ He kissed her forehead. She offered him her spit-soaked ball. "Did you miss me? I missed you a lot."

He put his forehead against hers. She laughed. Sam sat silently beside them.

"You were only gone for a few hours."

"So what? That means I can’t miss her?“ He had become louder. She winced and made a face. He was angry with himself. "Hey, it's all right, sweetie." He began to pace up and down, and her features relaxed again.

„You know, maybe I did want a family, even though I always said I didn't." He stroked over her hair while Sam sat still on the bed. "I just knew that as a hunter, having children was off the table. Or at least, that I shouldn't have any." He tilted his head. "My life has been predestined since I was five years old. Why burden yourself with what you want from life. It just hurts, and you can't change it anyway." Dean shrugged.

"You would have been a great father," Sam whispered. "Definitely a better one than me."

Dean handed Charlie back to Sam. "Anyway... I shouldn't have said the things I said to you."

"It's okay. I mean, I deserved it."

Charlie grabbed a strand of Sam's hair and looked at it with curiosity.

"In that moment I just hated you so much.“

"I know. We'll be gone by tomorrow, I promise."

Sam opened her little hand and freed his hair.

„And what if that's not what I want?" Dean took a breath. "You’re my brother, Sam." He shook his head. "You can hurt me more than anyone else and at the same time..." He swallowed. "We will always be brothers. No matter the shit you got us into. Whether you're letting the world die or you're sleeping with the love of my life. We can't stop being brothers. We'll always be family. So unpack your damn bags."

"Did you talk to Castiel?"

"Yeah."

„Have you forgiven him?"

Dean shrugged.

"I think he didn't even get what I was trying to tell him, or why he hurt me so much. It's my own fault for falling for his feathery ass, I guess." He grimaced. "But I think I'll keep him around, anyway. He can be pretty useful. And he's a pretty good in bed."

Sam did not nod. He just looked at him directly. "Can you forgive me? After everything?"

Dean stroked over Charlie's head. "Honestly? I don't know."

Sam nodded.

"But that's ok. I mean I never really forgave you for Ruby or for not looking for me when I was in purgatory. And still we found a way to go on. We still work well even when we're broken and barely patched together."

"You really want me to stay with you? With you and Castiel? "

Dean shrugged.

"I just won't leave you two alone anymore and I will control his phone. Besides, I can assure you now that your death is going to be slow and painful, should you even look at him the wrong way again. You got that?"

Sam wiped over his eyes. "Why?"

"Why you shouldn't sleep with Castiel?" Dean joked.

"No, why would you give me another chance?"

Sam looked up at him. Charlie was about to fall asleep. Only her fingers moved a bit.

"There is still more I love about you than I hate." Dean paused. "Besides, I promised Charlie that I would always be there for her. How am I supposed to do that when you both leave us? You can't handle her on your own." Dean had gotten up. "So you better unpack now." He swallowed. "See you at dinner."

Then he turned around, closed the door behind him and left. As he walked away, he punched the ugly, green tiles.

He did not know what to do next. How he could make the pain go away. He had lost the belief that things would turn out well. But somehow, things would go on, because they always did. And then, one day he would be able to hold Charlie in his arms and see only her own blue eyes and not Castiel's. He just had to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys a lot for the feedback! We were delighted that we're not the only ones emotionally invested in this story. It was super interesting to see how differently some people judged Sam's, Cas' and Dean's actions. We know, not everyone is going to be happy how the story unfolded. 
> 
> This is the last chapter to the first part of the story. We'll start posting the sequel soon. Hope to see some of you there too :)


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